


Saga's End

by Ne_Obliviscaris



Series: Mischief and Honey [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgard, F/M, Family Drama, Politics, Sick Character, very very canon divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ne_Obliviscaris/pseuds/Ne_Obliviscaris
Summary: Asgard mourns the fall of her king. However, those who remember Loki's past have suspicions about what really happened. Loyalties are called into question. In the midst of this, the Quatrain call on Loki to pay back his debt. In the final chapter of Loki and Sigrid's saga, can they finally have the peace for which they long? 100 yrs after The Sons of Loki





	1. Death of a King

**Author's Note:**

> This is an as of yet unfinished fanfic that has been languishing in my fanfiction.net account. I am posting it here for those who have enjoyed this series thus far. Hopefully, one day, I will finish it. Keep an eye on the warnings and content rating as they may change, though I don't really see it going beyond 'Mature'.
> 
> Also, be aware that I started this after Thor: The Dark World. In this alternative universe I've created, Asgard is still standing. How long that will be the case remains to be seen.

The Quatrain gathered around the large bowl of frozen water, watching the cataclysmic events unfolding under the ice. Loki's face, his wild hair waving around him, contorted in a scream. A sudden explosion, and the image ended. For a long moment, no one spoke.

"It is time," the lead priestess said.

"We must approach with care," said the second.

"But we have waited too long for this," said the third.

"The fruit is ripe," agreed the first. "It is time for the harvest."

#

Sigrid stood just outside the Observatory, the colors of the Bifrost flashing beneath her feet. To her right stood Frigga, her grey hair coifed into curls on her head, accentuating her statuesque figure. To her left stood Joan, whose hand clutched hers.

"It will be all right, Mother," Joan muttered beneath her breath.

Sigrid nodded, not responding. They had been waiting many hours on the bridge. War had broken out on Midgard. The descendants of old allies called upon Thor Allfather for his aide. And the Allfather, against the advice of nearly everyone, went to his precious Midgard, taking Loki, his companions, and even Baldur. Sigrid had not been there since the deaths of her beloved sister and cousin and she idly wondered what that world was like now.

The giant globe began to spin and everyone tensed as the stream of light shot into the stars. After a long moment that felt like an age, the globe slowed to a stop. Frigga took a trembling step forward, but stopped, as if afraid. Sigrid's hand tightened on Joan's as she cursed herself for not having gone along. But Loki had forbidden it.

"This battle will be fierce," he had said, "and you must remain behind in case Frigga needs you." It went unspoken between them that, if none of them returned, either she or Joan would have to take the throne. On second thought, she cursed Thor who still acted rashly at times.

Movement caught her eye as figures emerged. The first to appear was Baldur, his blue and green armor bloody and battered. As tall as his father, his long, curling black hair flowed freely to his shoulders. The crowd behind them set up a cheer but Sigrid saw the anguish in his eyes. Frigga swayed as Loki followed Baldur. Sigrid caught the Queen Mother's arm and bore her weight, keeping her from dropping.

She looked at Loki, his face without emotion. But she saw the tumult of grief and rage in his eyes.

"The Allfather is dead," cried Loki. "Long live the Allfather!"

For a long moment, nothing happened. Slowly, all of Asgard knelt at Baldur's feet.


	2. You're Not a God

Frigga and I sat in the gallery above the Council Room. Our position as wives and mothers of those with power allowed us to attend but we had no say in the proceedings below beyond what influence we heldd personally over the men. It was odd, being a Queen Mother, suddenly and without warning. I found myself watching Frigga for cues, as she'd been at this for over a century. But having lost both her husband and her only (biological) son in such a short span of time (to us), I also watched her out of worry. But she didn't blanch. She didn't break down into hysterical tears. She sat, calm and composed, her hands folded on her lap as she watched the proceedings below, a Queen to the last.

I focused back onto the round table as Loki stood to give his report.

"The attack was much more massive than anticipated," he began, "and we were woefully outnumbered." He began to walk around the table with his hands clasped behind his back, the men turning to watch him. "And the Midgardians did not give us the aid they promised."

This was strange. Loki may have pinned blame on others in the past, but not in a long time. Not since he returned from what I've come to call the Trickster's War, when Jormungr was conceived and I had nearly lost all hope.

"But we carried on, Thor giving us encouragement," Loki continued. He stopped as he reached the right side of Baldur's chair. Baldur sat still and tense, his hands clutching the arms. Loki placed his hand on Baldur's shoulder. I frowned, recognizing the sign of comfort. "He rallied us and gave us a lift in our spirits. He made us believe we could achieve the impossible. We managed to fight our way to the leader of the army but he was protected by a force field. Thor, seeing an opening, went for it, using Mjolnir to break his way through. The blowback of the energy was too much and we all nearly lost our lives. In that way, the Allfather saved Midgard. And lost his life."

Loki's voice cracked at the last word. My heart ached at seeing him so close to tears but knowing he wouldn't allow himself to relax enough to let any tears fall. His hand slid away from the shoulder of his son and he returned to his seat. Several Council members asked questions, about logistics and plans of attack. Loki answered them all smoothly, even the ones that Baldur should have answered. Several of the Council members exchanged looks but I couldn't make out their expressions.

Finally, the meeting adjourned. I stood but Frigga didn't follow. Slowly, I sat back down and took her hand.

"Mother," I began, using the title I had only recently began to use for her.

"You don't have to say anything, Sigrid," she replied, her voice low and husky. "I know how heavily you advised against Thor—or any of us—from going to Midgard. To give them aid."

"I wasn't going to refer to that."

"No. But you were thinking it." She smiled slightly. "Or, at least I was."

"Thor died in battle protecting the realm he loved, as he would have wanted."

"But there will be those who will say he should have died protecting Asgard."

"And Thor would reply that to protect any of the other eight realms is to protect Asgard, for all of our destinies are intertwined."

"You've acquired Loki's silver tongue, I think, my dear."

"It doesn't make any of what I've just said less true."

"Hmm."

She fell silent as we watched some of the Council members breaking apart to speak in hushed tones. Loki drew Baldur aside to speak to him and I could tell by the set of his shoulders that he was insisting something. I wondered—and worried. I seemed to be worrying a lot over the past few years, mostly over Joan. Her rare tendency toward illness did not end with childhood.

"Loki will need to tread lightly," spoke up Frigga suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"There are still those, after all this time, who do not trust Loki. And now Loki's son sits on the throne. There will be those who will think he'll try to take power away from Baldur, making him nothing more than a figurehead."

"That's absurd."

"Yes. But plausible. Likely, even."

I sighed, hearing the truth in her words. "What do you think of Loki's speech?"

"I think there's something he isn't saying. But that is the way of Loki, so I am not wholly surprised."

"He hides truth only when he fears of the damage it will cause."

"A trait he picked up from Odin, no doubt. And Loki has felt the consequences of that trait."

I swallowed, seeing the irony of the situation and not really wanting to comment on it. "Her Majesty should go rest."

"Her Majesty hasn't had a good night's sleep in a long time. Why should this night be any different?"

I looked at her, really looked, and saw the darkness under her eyes and the fragile way she held herself, like she was blown glass that could shatter any moment.

"I had no idea, Mother. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sigrid. I didn't want you to know."

"I will send you some of my honey."

"Your honey works miracles, but it cannot heal broken hearts." Slowly, she stood and I let go of her hand. She touched my cheek, smiling softly. "But I think I will try to rest. You should go to your rooms. No doubt Loki will want to speak to you."

#

It was another hour before Loki came home. I had changed from my official robes to a blouse and a pair of trousers I usually only wore when gardening. But they were old, soft, and comfortable. I needed comfort. When Loki entered the garden, he slid his helm off with a sigh. I rushed up to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissed him, letting my lips and tongue tell him how afraid I had been. After a long moment, we parted and I took his helm, slipping it under my arm with practiced ease as he slid his arm around my waist.

"You smell like blood and burned asphalt," I said.

"Thank you, my dear," he said. "And you smell like honey and flowers and everything decent in this world."

We sat on the bench by the fountain, and, propping his elbow on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. I laid my hand on his back, feeling the tremors running through his body. When he turned to me after a few minutes, his eyes were red and tears streaked his cheeks.

"Oh, my darling," I said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

"I couldn't stop him, Sigrid. I...I didn't even want to stop him."

I frowned a little. "What do you mean?"

"Baldur," he said. "Baldur was the one who tried to break through the force field. Not Thor."

The blood drained from my face. "Thor died saving Baldur."

He nodded. "I tried to get there first but I knew I was going to be too late. Even as I ran, I knew it was too late."

"Then why didn't you tell the Council that?"

Loki straightened and rubbed his face with his hands, dropping them to dangle between his legs. "Baldur made me promised. Thor was still young in his reign but the people loved him." Another tear rolled down his cheek. "We all loved him. But Baldur looked up to him more than...more than even he realizes, I think. And now Thor died because he was saving his heir."

I nodded slowly. "He blames himself. He fears others will blame him."

"Yes."

We sat in silence for a long moment, listening to the chuckling of the fountain. Finally, I asked, "What were you saying to Baldur, after the Council meeting?"

Loki sighed again. "He wants to give the throne to me. He doesn't feel fit to rule."

"What? He can't do that. The people expect him to take the throne. If you take it-"

"People will believe I made him do it, yes, I know. Perhaps even believe I murdered Thor."

"Frigga believes some people will fear you'll become the real power behind the throne, regardless."

"She is correct."

"It's been nearly a century and a half, according to Midgard's measurement of time, since you lived as an enemy of Asgard. I can't believe there are still those who look at you and see a traitor."

"We have long lives, my love. Long memories go with that. A century and a half feels like a mere decade. Or even less, depending."

"So what shall we do now?"

"Help Baldur subtly. He must be seen taking the reigns, even more than he normally would if this had been a natural transition of power. If Thor had simply stepped aside, he would have helped Baldur as much as possible until he was comfortable. But now Baldur must live as if Asgard were newly created, and he their first king. Only then will the people feel at ease."

"That will work?"

Loki shrugged, as if there was no real way to tell, and perhaps there wasn't. We lapsed back into silence and I took his hand. We often sat like this after the evening meal, content in each other's silence. But that night, I think we were just afraid to speak too much of our minds.

He asked, "How is Joan?"

"Doing well."

"And her cough?"

"It's cleared."

"Good. Strange that she should get sick as often as she does." He studied the palm of his free hand, as if the answer to the riddle lied there.

"None of the healers know what's wrong and my honey doesn't seem to help that much."

"I haven't found anything in my books, either."

"But she recovers. That's something to be happy about."

"Yes."

I stood, still holding his head. "Come, Loki. Let me tend to my hero's wounds."

Loki smirked. "Shall I go fetch him, then? Your hero?"

Chuckling, I bent down and kissed him. Pulling back, I saw again the sorrow in his eyes—and the anger. "It wasn't your fault," I whispered. "You're not a god, Loki."

"I think you tell me that at least once a month."

"And I'll keep saying it until you believe it."

"Then I think you should say it a few more times." More tears fell and he leaned forward. Straightening, I wrapped one arm around his shoulders as he buried his face in my stomach and cried for the loss of his brother.


	3. Guilt and Duty

Baldur stood before the empty pedestal that once bore the Ice Casket, hands clasped behind his back. Grief and anger warred with self-contempt and guilt within him. If he could have flung himself into an abyss, he would.

He remembered hearing the stories about his father's actions when the madness of jealousy and lust for power held sway over him. He remembered the horror he felt at hearing him tell of Laufey's murder and the sinking feeling in his gut on the day he first heard the whispers of those who still didn't trust Loki to be a true Odinson. And here was his son, Baldur, following in his father's footsteps.

_Murderer._

_King-killer._

_Usurper._

"Baldur?"

Jerking, he whirled, his hand falling to the sword strapped to his side. Joan, his beautiful and frail sister, tilted her head to look up at him. Today she had tamed her wild red hair into a tight braid and it accentuated her sharp chin.

He relaxed, letting out a gust of air with a sigh. "Joan, you shouldn't sneak up on me like that."

"I thought I'd made enough racket coming through the door. And I called out when I entered." She came to stand beside him, looking at the empty pedestal. "What weighs on your mind, brother?" She turned to him.

"Nothing." He moved away, pretending to be interested in one of the relics.

"You could never lie to me, you know that."

"I'm not lying."

"Fine. You're evading."

He paused, wondering if he could reveal his thoughts to her. "You wouldn't understand, I think."

"Baldur, you know you can tell me anything. You've always been there for me, through disappointments and illness. You are one of the few who don't look at me like a failure because I don't possess our parents' magic. Now, in your time of distress, allow me to be there for you. Please."

He felt a light touch on his arm and he turned, facing her. She gazed up at him with storm-blue eyes. Once, he scorned her presence as a nuisance as he and Jor ran off on their own adventures. But after Jor was sent back home, she slowly became a friend and confidante. And though her many illnesses and frailties prevented them from having adventures, she still proved to be a boon with her ability to always guess what he was thinking and feeling, to know when depression or anger gripped him and what would shake him from it.

But, today, that was the last thing he wanted.

"I am well, Joan. You should return to your rooms. It's cold down here and Mother would never forgive me if I allowed you to sicken again. If you'll excuse me, I must go prepare. Jor will be here tomorrow to offer the official condolences of Jotunheim, and as Allfather, I must receive him."

He turned and walked away, not stopping when Joan called out after him.

#

"And make sure that the new Allfather understands he cannot retract on anything outlined in the treaty," rumbled Thrym. "He will court war if he does."

"Baldur will be loyal to the treaty, Father," Jor replied, trying to not fidget with the robe he wore when visiting Asgard. The word "father" had a bitter taste in his mouth but he didn't wince as he said it, as he once did.

"Hm. We shall see." Thrym looked up from the scroll he had been reading. "Shouldn't you be going?"

"Of course, Father." He bowed and left the throne room, his entourage falling into step at a respectful distance behind him. Out of courtesy, they would use the Bifrost to gain entrance into Asgard. He passed his Mother on the way out and she gave him a shy smile. He returned it with one of his own.

As he entered the large courtyard where the Bifrost would come down to take them up, he was surprised to find the Quatrain waiting for them.

"Good day, priestesses," he greeted them.

"Good day, our prince," said the lead priestess. "You travel to Asgard this day."

"We do. Thor Allfather has perished in battle and we go to offer condolences and a renewal of the treaty to Baldur Allfather. Have you come to offer a blessing on our mission?"

"If the prince wishes for a blessing, we gladly bestow it. However, another purpose weighs on our minds."

"Speak, then, my lady. What boon do you ask of your prince? Or do you offer words of wisdom as my father the king has done?"

The priestess' lips twitched into a smile. "You have gained a wonderful way with words, my lord." She stepped close and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Which you have gained from your father, Loki, no doubt."

Jor tensed a little but that was the only sign he gave, fighting to maintain an impassive expression on his face. In equally low tones, he replied, "Thank you for the compliment, priestess. Is that your purpose, then? To enlighten me on your knowledge of the truth?"

"To enlighten you on what we know of the truth will take more seasons than are destined to be yours, Prince Jormundr, for we Quatrain have existed since the founding of Jotunheim and our memory is long. No, we have come to bid you carry a message for us."

"I am at my lady's service."

"Tell Prince Loki that the time has arrived and we await him most eagerly."

"I can only assume he will know of what you speak."

"You assume correctly."

"Then consider it done, priestess. Now, unless you have something else on your mind, I ask that you and your sisters clear the courtyard so that we may be on our way."

"Of course."

The priestess stepped back and she, with her sisters, bowed low before walking away. He watched them leave.

"Is all well, my lord?" asked one of the emissaries in his entourage.

"Yes," he responded quickly. "All is well." Tilting his head back, he called out to the clouded sky. "Heimdall, open the Bifrost."

With a crackle of thunder, the rainbow bridge slammed down.

#

When Jor stepped out into the Observatory, the smile he wore on his face was not the false one he often wore at Court. The sight of his brother, resplendent in his ceremonial armor, warmed his heart.

"Good Allfather," he said, bowing, for a prince should bow to a king. "I have come to offer official condolences from Jotunheim, and to extend from King Thrym the hope that we may continue on together in peace."

"I accept you, Prince Jormundr," replied Baldur, "and your gracious condolences and hopes. Enter Asgard and be welcomed."

Jor's smile faltered as he took in the dark shadows beneath Baldur's eyes. "I hope his Majesty did not suffer any wounds from his ordeal."

"I am well."

 _Lying prat_ , thought Jor. He was going to find out the truth of things, even if he had to hang his brother from the rainbow bridge by his ankle.

As they walked into the city, they did not speak beyond Jor's inquiry regarding Baldur's official crowning.

"The elders have suggested we wait a week, allowing the city to have its morning, before the crowning ceremony."

"Your elders are wise and thoughtful of their people."

"And I am not?"

Jor blinked at the ease with which Baldur took offense. "Apologies, my king, for giving that impression. I was merely complimenting the wisdom of your advisors. I am sure you would have come to the same conclusion."

Baldur said nothing as he mounted his chariot and they rode to the palace. As they went, Jor took in the black banners hanging from balconies and windows. The people held sorrow in their faces and more than one glanced toward them with suspicious eyes. Jor tried to keep the frown from his face. There was something he was missing, he knew.

Before too long, Jor and Baldur were sequestered alone in one of the audience chambers after the official exchange of the horn cup of peace, a tradition carried out whenever any party from Jotunheim came to visit. As soon as the door grated close behind them, Jor dropped his courtly manner.

"All right," he said. "What's wrong?"

"Beyond the death of my uncle?" shot back Baldur, who poured himself mead. "Mead?"

"No, thank you. Baldur, something is eating at you. What is it?"

"What else do you have to tell me? What words have Thrym sent by you?"

Jor almost pressed his earlier point but he could tell by Baldur's stance that it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Feet planted solidly on the ground at shoulder-width, he looked ready to either throw a punch or obstinately refuse to answer a question.

"Thrym," said Jor, "wishes for you to understand that you cannot renege on any part of the treaty made between Bjarte and Odin."

"Or I will court war, no doubt."

"You assume aright." The phrase reminded him of the Quaitrain. "Is our father about?"

"He's with Grandmother, preparing Thor's body for the pyre."

"I thought there hadn't been a body."

"It was recovered in the early hours of this morning. The Midgardians sent it."

"And Mjolnir?"

"In the relic room."

"Someone could lift it?"

"I could."

"But you will not wield it."

"It's Thor's weapon. Not mine." He gulped back the rest of the mead. "Did you wish to see Father?"

"Of course. But I also have a message to convey to him."

"What does Thrym have to say to our father Loki?"

"Nothing. It's from the Quatrain."

"The Quatrain?"

"Yes." Jor frowned. "I think Father left something out when he told us of his time on Jotunheim as Bjarte."

"That sounds like Father. We will not be able to speak to him until after the funeral."

"It can wait. The Quatrain didn't make it sound too terribly urgent."

"Hmm."

For a long moment, Jor watched Baldur pour himself more mead and drink. "Brother, please tell me what troubles you."

"I wish people would stop asking me that."

"What happened on Midgard?"

The horn cup cracked as he slammed it back into its holder. "There's no need to speak of that."

"Baldur-"

"If that's all, Prince Jormundr, I have other business to which I need to attend."

"I-"

But Baldur left before Jor could finish what he started to say.


	4. Departure

Loki watched as Sigrid drew honey from one of her boxes across the garden. Jor stood beside him. He had just finished speaking about his meeting with Baldur.

"That's very unlike him," Loki remarked thoughtfully.

"Yes," Jor agreed. "Can you tell me what happened on Midgard?"

"Thor died saving Baldur. He blames himself."

"In that case, I would say his reaction was a little disproportionate."

"He is young and feels everything like a raw wound."

"I'm young and I don't react like that."

"But you've known tragedy longer than him. You've had time to toughen your skin." He smiled a little at his son. "Speaking of toughening your skin, how goes Thrym?"

"Well enough, I suppose. He keeps to himself when he's not issuing orders."

"He was something of a hermit when I first came across him."

Jor shifted a little from one foot to another. "Mother-"

"No, Jor." Loki turned from him to gaze out at Sigrid. "Let's not speak of her."

"You told me once that you loved her, Father. Why-"

"Jor." Loki's face hardened as he faced him. "I have never asked much of you. But I am commanding you to never mention her in my presence again."

Jor stared down at his father for a long moment. He had never been sure how Loki felt about his mother, Angrboda. When he was a little boy, Loki admitted to loving her, though he hadn't known her for very long. Perhaps it wasn't that he loved Angrboda but loved what she represented: Jotunheim. But he could never stand to hear her mentioned and so Jor was left to wonder.

"Very well, Father," he said quietly.

Loki's face softened. "Forgive me, my son. I just-"

"No, it's all right, Father. I won't speak of her again to you."

Something like grief flitted through his eyes and Loki turned back to watch Sigrid. For a long moment, an uneasy silence laid between them. Finally, he asked, "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. The Quatrain stopped me before I came here."

"Oh?" The casual tone in his voice did not retract from the sudden tension in his shoulders.

"They said that it was time and that they await your arrival. What are they talking about?"

Loki didn't answer for so long of a time, Jor almost repeated himself.

"An old bargain," he said quietly, "has come due, it would seem."

"Father?"

"Speak of this to no one, Jor."

"Of course."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"There's to be a feast tonight."

"Ah, yes. I almost forgot."

"You will be there?"

"Of course." He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes.

#

"No," I said, as if that could change anything.

"I have to go," repeated Loki as he added another item to his pack.

"Baldur needs you."

"Baldur is a fool if he doesn't realize that the longer I remain, the more suspicion he is going to fall under. People won't care how Thor died, only that he did and that a son of Loki sits on the throne. That will be enough for them."

"That's not the point. Baldur needs you to advise him."

"Jor can help him."

"Jor has to go home eventually!"

Loki threw his pack down and turned to me, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. "And what would you have me do, Sigrid?"

"Stay with your family!"

A sudden racking cough broke the air erupted from Joan's chamber. Loki sighed, shoving a hand through his hair.

I began to say something but Loki interrupted me, saying, "I don't know what to do with her, Sigrid. I have looked in every book, sought out every wise person. No one knows why she gets ill. My presence neither improves nor worsens the situation."

"Your presence gives her comfort. She  _knows_  something is wrong, Loki! And it frightens her. It frightens me!"

"I cannot go back on a bargain!" he shouted.

I jerked back, having not heard him raise his voice in a long time. I had forgotten how frightening it was.

"Mother?" Joan called from her chamber. We heard her taking shuffling footsteps as she crossed the living area. "Father? Is all well?"

"Everything is fine." I went to the doorway of our bedchamber. Joan stared at me, her hair falling untidily around her shoulders. "Go back to bed."

"I feel feverish."

"I'll have Brin bring you something cold to drink. Have you taken your nightly honey tonic?"

"Yes, Mother."

"Very good. It should help you soon. Go back to bed, dearheart."

Joan nodded and returned to her room. I called for Brin and ordered for something cold to be taken to my daughter. My poor daughter who sickened when she shouldn't. I was fully an Asgardian, so why was her body acting like a Midgardian's? I turned back to Loki, a whole new problem. I wanted to break something so badly, I folded my arms over my chest to keep the pottery safe.

"I wish you didn't have to go," I whispered.

"It's only a month." He came to me and laid his hands on my shoulders. "You know I will return to you."

"I know full well that as long as you are alive, you will always return to me." I looked up at him, the meaning of my words heavy on the air between us.

Finally, he said, "Then fear not. I have no plans to die in Jotunheim."

"No one plans on death, Loki. Death comes whether we want it or not."

At first, I thought he was going to argue with me. Instead, he pulled me close and kissed me hungrily, as if he was trying to commit my every line, my taste, to memory. And perhaps he was. I kissed him back just as eagerly, trying to fight the dawn, when Loki would leave me.

Again.

#

"You know it is with reluctance that I go, my sons," said Loki. He, Jor, and Baldur stood in the garden the next morning. Sigrid and Joan stood a distance away, giving them privacy.

"I don't understand why you must go," replied Baldur. "What hold does the Quatrain have over you?"

"An old bargain, that is all you need to know. I will return in a month's time."

"And what do I tell the elders? They may think you've gone to plot against Asgard."

"Baldur is right," spoke up Jor. "It is unfair, but long have a few factions suspected you, Father. Your leaving so soon after Thor Allfather's death may look suspicious."

"It cannot be helped," said Loki. "If I do not go, the Quatrain hold enough power to make me regret it. And the consequences may be more far-reaching than that."

Silence fell between them. Jor looked mildly troubled; it was hard to tell on his Frost Giant's features. Baldur's face was impassive but Loki could see the hurt and fear building in his eyes.

"Jor," he said. "I would like a moment with Baldur."

"Of course." Jor gave a short bow and went to stand beside Sigrid and Joan.

Loki laid a hand on Baldur's shoulder. "My son-"

Baldur knocked his hand away. "I don't need your pity, Father."

"It isn't pity I offer you, but advice. And a reminder."

"You know I always value your counsel."

He sighed. They were speaking as if in Court. He felt as if his son stood leagues away from him and it made his heart ache. He wondered if Odin every felt this way. "Baldur, it wasn't your fault. Whenever your heart or your mind reproaches you, don't forget that."

Baldur grunted but didn't meet his eyes. "The reminder, I suppose. And your advice?"

"Go to your mother if you seek wisdom. There have been many times when I ignored her words and came to regret it. She sees very clearly. It's her inheritance from Sigyn. Don't turn your nose at it."

"Of course, Father."

"If it is absolutely vital, you know how to scry me, though I cannot promise the Quatrain won't have some sort of ward to block communication."

"Of course."

In desperation to reach him, Loki cupped the back of his neck with his hand, a gesture Thor had often used on him. Loki didn't even think about that when he did it. He just wanted his son to listen to him. Baldur looked up at him, surprised.

"You are my pride and joy," said Loki in a low voice. "You mean more to me than all the nine realms. You and Jor and Joan. No matter what I do for the rest of my life, you three will always be my greatest achievement."

Baldur gazed at him for a long moment. Standing side by side, they could have been twins if Loki wasn't obviously older and if Baldur's hair didn't twist into half-wild curls like his mother's hair. Loki prayed to whatever would listen that their resemblance remained on the surface, that Baldur would not make the same mistakes.

Finally, Baldur said, "Thank you, Father." But there was no gratitude in his eyes.

Reluctantly, Loki dropped his hand and backed away. He turned to Sigrid, Joan, and Jor. Sigrid looked to be on the verge of tears but she held herself with regal pride. He felt his heart swell, grateful he had chosen her to be his mate. His lips curled into a cocky smile, for her benefit, and she rolled her eyes.

With that, he turned, aligning the magic as he needed it, and took a step that sent the world whipping around him. A lifetime later, he stepped out into the cold of Jotunheim, the ice-covered walls of the temple soaring over him. A rustle of cloth caused him to turn around.

The Quatrain gazed on him with enigmatic eyes. The lead priestess said, "Welcome home, Bjarte."


	5. Schemes and Lies

"I am here to fulfill my bargain," said Loki, ignoring the use of his Jotun name.

"Your sense of honor gives you credit," replied the first priestess. "Do you recognize this room?"

He looked around. They stood in the main chamber of the temple. Behind the priestesses, on the top of nine steps, sat the large stone altar with its grooves cut into the side to resemble the patterns on a Jotun's face. The grooves directed the blood of the sacrifice into a shallow, round depression at the altar's feet, though it had been a long time since any sacrifices had been performed here. In the back of the room, a statue of a female Jotun loomed to a great height, the head scraping the ceiling. Centuries of ice coated the face. Or perhaps it was meant to look like that.

"No," he replied. "I do not."

"This is where Odin Allfather found you, all those years ago, on this altar."

"If you're trying to inspire hate, my ladies, you fail in your purpose. I've had my fill."

The priestesses smiled, baring sharp teeth. The leader replied, "You mistake our purpose, Bjarte. We are reminding you of your origin. And of your duty."

He tilted his head slightly, trying to understand what they were getting at. "I have served my duty. I was your Bjarte. And now Thrym sits on the throne, with Jormungr to follow. I fail to see the duty of which you speak."

"Thrym is no better than a usurper."

"It was your machinations that placed him on the throne."

"You wished to leave Jotunheim, Bjarte. We merely assisted you."

"We both know you intended for Thrym to ascend to the Jotun throne. It does neither of us credit to pretend otherwise.

"Hm. Still, you are mistaken, in that you miss the fuller picture. Thrym was a means to an end, an evil necessity. Our…machinations, as you call them, were for a different end."

Loki stared at the women for a long moment before horror mounted in his chest as he realized what they meant. "Angrboda. You wanted me to bed her."

"We see far, Bjarte, and we knew you would try to return to Asgard after your rebuilt the Palace and made peace. In the event of that, we needed an heir of the true Royal Bloodline. One that could wield the Ice Casket."

The events of those weeks replayed in his mind and Loki's hands balled into fists. He nearly lost Sigrid. It wouldn't have happened, he was sure, if he had been on Asgard.

"And things played out better than we could have hoped, for a son of Bjarte sits on the Asgardian throne and, soon, a son of Bjarte will sit on the Jotun throne. The kingdoms will be united at last and no one other than us need ever know. Isn't it ironic that what the Allfather probably considered his greatest mistake played out, after all?"

He took a step toward them, to do what he didn't know, but something the leader had said cut through the red haze threatening to cloak his mind. "What did you mean, 'soon'?"

"Our task for you is quite simple. Kill Thrym. Let Jormungr ascend to the throne."

"And how, exactly, am I to do this without anyone blaming Jormungr? He will, naturally, be a suspect."

"Simple. You will take the blame."

Shocked, Loki could only stare as his mind worked feverishly through the ramifications of that.

"In a month's time, we will celebrate the festival of the Ice Mother, our goddess. There, before everyone, you will assassinate Thrym."

"Why not wait for Thrym's death? There are no other challengers to the throne."

"Thrym is growing increasingly paranoid and erratic. He has begun to spurn our advice."

"Can't have that, now can we?" Loki sneered. "So, you've called me in to do your dirty work for you—and to do away with a loose end. I suppose you were hoping I wouldn't survive that staged attack before the temple."

The priestesses didn't answer for a long moment. Finally, the leader said, "In the meantime, we have another task for you to complete."

"And what is that?"

"You are to be Angrboda's personal bodyguard. We have foreseen an attempt on her life by a rival."

"Why should you care?"

"That is not for you to know."

"I take it you intend on changing my shape so that I don't resemble Bjarte."

"You assume correctly."

Loki didn't like this. Killing Thrym in front of an audience would only lead to two things: death or exile. Either would forever separate him from his beloved Sigrid. And, in the meantime, he's to keep watch over the one person he's strove to not even think about for the past century. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the roil of emotions in his chest and see a way to spin this to everyone's advantage.

He glared at them. "Why do you look at me as if awaiting my acquiescence? I am bound to you by sacred oath. Work your magic, priestesses. But I swear, before your own goddess, that if I survive your latest scheme, I will kill you if you should ever contact me ever again. Or my Sigrid or Joan." His sons he couldn't protect, as Jor would have to deal with the Quatrain, and who knew if Baldur would one day as well?

The lead priestess nodded. "We expected nothing less, Bjarte Laufeyson."

#

"Prince Loki is gone?" asked one of the elders.

After Loki had left, Baldur called for a special meeting with the elders and military leaders of Asgard. Jor stood to one side, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked over those assembled with thoughtful eyes. At first, his presence was objected to, but Baldur explained he would have called in other emissaries or representatives of their allies if any were present in Asgard. The objecting elder grumbled under his breath for a moment but people eventually stopped giving Jor dour looks, especially after Baldur broke the news of Loki's "disappearance".

"He is," confirmed Baldur.

"And do you have any idea as to where he went?" asked Fandral. The Warriors Three were part of the council because of their friendship with Thor, and Baldur hadn't decided if he wanted to continue that.

"Possibly Midgard. Lady Sigrid is unsure."

"Strange," spoke up Hogun, "that she did not follow as well."

"Yes. She seems distressed but I'm confident that there isn't anything she's holding back. She honestly does not know where my father went, or why."

Silence fell in the chamber as the council considered this. Another elder said, "All due respect to Baldur Allfather, but we should consider the possibility that Loki engineered the death of Thor and is even now gathering an army to conquer Asgard. I move that we ready the army and send out spies to locate him before he makes his move."

Baldur stiffened, as both pain and anger snapped through him, but Volstagg beat him to making an angry retort. The wide, hairy warrior leapt to his feet and slapped his hands on the table they sat around.

"Goat scat," he growled. "We were there, the Warriors Three, and Baldur Allfather. We saw what happened." For a split second, his eyes flicked to Baldur before returning to the offending elder. "Loki tried everything he could to get to Thor and he had to be dragged from his brother's body. I say Loki has gone to mourn alone, if nothing else."

"Your devotion to Thor's  _adoptive_  brother is admirable, but we cannot forget what Loki did a scant century ago. We cannot forget that he could-"

"Nonsense!"

The air erupted with the arguments and protests of the men as they stood, voices rising as one tried to be heard over another. Baldur banged the bottom of Gungnir against the floor, the sound ringing through the chamber. The men silenced and slowly reclaimed their seats.

"I brought this," he said quietly, "to the council's attention because I expected this same reaction if news slowly got out that Loki had disappeared." He stood, using his presence to dominate the room. He wasn't as tall or as broad as Thor but he still knew how to intimidate with a look. "We must prepare for similar allegations and suspicions. We must appear as if we knew this was going to happen all along so that the people will remain calm. As good Volstagg has suggested, let us all assume—until prove otherwise—that my father has gone off to mourn in solitude. Now. Does anyone else have anything to say?"

No one, save the Warriors Three, met Baldur's eyes. After a sufficient amount of time, he adjourned the meeting. But Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, and Jor stayed behind.

"Baldur," said Fandral, "is there something you aren't telling us?"

"No," began Baldur, "I-"

"Loki," interrupted Jor, "has gone to Jotunheim."

He shot his brother a poisonous look. Jor shrugged, unrepentant.

"Why?" asked Volstagg, shocked.

Taking a deep breath, Baldur gave a very short explanation of the events of the war on Jotunheim and Loki's oath with the ruling priestesses, called the Quatrain. He would have liked to have lied altogether, but the set of Jor's jaw told him he would have been overridden. And it occurred to him that it would be best to have the loyalty of a few on their side. Perhaps that loyalty was best bought with the truth rather than a clever fiction.

"Madness," said Fandral, calmly, as if he was choosing one cloak over another. "Complete madness."

"He made an oath," replied Hogan. "He has done an honorable thing."

Fandral snorted. "And left us to face the suspicion of half of Asgard. Baldur, no offense, but people are going to suspect things, no matter what is said in a council meeting. Are you willing to face that?"

"I am." Baldur scratched his chin, realizing he had forgotten to shave that morning. Perhaps he could grow a beard and then not have to worry about that sort of thing ever again. "Are you willing to stand by the throne?"

"Of course. You know we're loyal to you, Baldur."

"To the bitter end," proclaimed Volstagg in a jovial tone.

"You would sound happy while saying that."

The large warrior only grinned wolfishly and clapped Hogun on the shoulder.

"Baldur," said Jor quietly, "perhaps we should let the truth of what happened on Midgard be made known. If people knew that Thor-"

"No," snapped Baldur. "That must remain our secret."

"Bal, don't be stubborn. It would help to displace suspicion from Loki."

"No, Jormungr. And that's final." He looked over the now solemn faces. "This meeting is adjourned." Turning on his heel, he strode out as if the ghosts of the past were hard on his heels.


	6. The Beginning of the End

In the face of my son's anguish and the pain of Loki's absence, I could only think of one thing to do.

I went for a ride, finding comfort in the rhythmic scissoring of my mare's legs as they ate up the land. The city quickly fell away and soon we were crossing open fields, having forsaken the well-kept road. My guards pushed their mounts to keep up, but I left them behind with ease. They shouted for me to wait, but I was tempted to ignore them. Better sense won out, however, and I brought my horse, Ember, to a stop beside a laughing stream.

The men caught up in a few moments. "My lady," said their captain, "please, do not go so far ahead of us. The Allfather has entrusted your safety to us and we must not fail in our duty."

I flashed him a smile. "My apologies, Captain."

But what good mood I had been in faded when I saw where we had stopped. It was a place where willows lined the stream and there were wide grassy spots on the bank between a few of the trees. Loki and I had come here before, when our children had still been children, for picnics. I could almost hear their laughter again, as Baldur and Jor played, Joan trying to keep up.

"My lady? Are you well?"

I forced myself to turn to him. "I am well. Only thinking." Dismounting, I handed off the reins to a soldier and went to stand beside the water.

Gazing into the clear, tumbling depths, I almost didn't notice the man who came to stand beside me. The Captain shouted, and the air sang with drawn weapons, but, after glancing up at the visitor, I said, "All is well." I turned to the Captain. "Move away. I wish to have privacy."

The men exchanged dark looks but did as I bid them. When I felt sure they wouldn't overhear anything, I turned back to my visitor, who had kept his back to the men.

"I didn't think I would see you here, Jor," I said.

Jor, in his Asgardian form, looked eerily like Loki, except his features were slightly more feminine and his lips fuller. He was also taller than his father and his shoulders broader. If he and Baldur stood side by side, someone would mistake them for twins. He smiled ruefully. "I wished to clear my head, stepmother. I see you've come to do the same."

"Yes." I sighed. "How goes it with Baldur?"

"Not well. He refuses to tell the truth of Thor's death, which leaves the way open for more suspicion and strife. But the Warriors Three know the truth of things, both of what happened on Midgard and where our father has gone. This has won their loyalty. And none are more loyal than they, when they set their hearts to it. But I fear what will be the reactions of the people, when news of Loki's disappearance becomes widely known. If Baldur would only let the truth be known of how Thor died, we could circumvent much potential grief."

"But you will stand by your brother." I didn't make it a question. Only a fool would doubt Jor's love for his brother after watching the two grow up together.

He sighed. "That goes without saying, stepmother."

"How long will you remain in Asgard?"

"As long as I can get away with. Thrym has become...strange in his age. If I stay away too long, he may let his own paranoia get the better of him."

"I wish you could remain here always." I smiled up at him. I had been reluctant about welcoming Jor into our little family (who could blame me, he was the child my husband had with another woman), but the soft spoken boy had quickly won my heart. Now, as a man, I loved him and was as proud of him as if I had given birth to him. If anyone could steer Baldur through the difficult waters ahead, it was Jor.

He sighed. "As do I, though I fear Baldur's guilt has pushed him to a place where not even my influence can reach him. And I have to return to Jotunheim at some point." He smiled. "After all, Baldur and I were both born to be kings." He glanced back at the men. "I will mask their memories and they will have no recollection of my being here."

"Thank you. You and your father were always better at that."

"I need to return to the Palace. Will you dine with me tonight?"

"Of course."

"Until then." He kissed me on the cheek and left in a whisper of cold air.

#

Night hung in heavy folds over Asgard. Three men entered a tavern, looking around the room with suspicious eyes. People sat at tables, talking and arguing in angry tones. Fear and suppressed violence filled the air like thick smoke. The three men took a table in a corner and were soon joined by two others. A torch flickered above their heads. A bar maid came by with horns of mead, then left them to their discussions.

"The whole city is filled with the news," said the first. He had a scraggly red-gold beard and his hands bore calluses from hauling in fishing nets all day. "Do you know there are some people too daft to see the danger?"

The men grunted. A blond with a thick scar on his jaw said, "But it can't be good. Loki may have been smelling like roses for the past few dozen years, but that doesn't mean he's given up his thirst for the throne. The new Allfather is a fool to not be concerned."

A third said, "The elders are unconcerned. They say Loki has gone to mourn on his own. Perhaps we should give him the benefit of the doubt."

That suggestion was met by dark glares and scoffing. The first man said, "If the Allfather refuses to protect us, then-"

"Hush!" Another red-haired man looked around the room, eyes wide with fright. "Heimdell might hear you."

"Let him hear us. And if he has any sense, he'll agree! Nothing but ruin will come from Loki's disappearance. No doubt, he killed Thor. The story coming from the Palace is vague and thin." He shook his head stubbornly. "Something smells like week old fish."

The men nodded glumly.

In the Palace, high up in Sigrid's chambers, she and Jor stood by a fire pit, looking down into the flames and listening to the conversation. Her eyes came up to meet Jor's. He frowned, not feeling the need to point out how right he had been.

#

Loki, in the guise of a burly Jotun, strode down the hall of the Palace. As he walked, he recognized each turn, each nook and cranny. He designed it all, after all. The ghost of the memory of that day seemed to nip at his heels as he went. Trying to ignore it, he climbed many flights of stairs all the way up to an Ice Garden. A servant had told him Queen Angrboda spent most of her day there.

As he entered, Loki felt a wave of disorientation, feeling as if he had stepped in Sigrid's garden after an inexplicable frost. He blinked, th world settling around him, and he straightened his shoulders, as he saw Angrboda sitting by a frozen fountain with her maids. At the top of the fountain, two Jotuns were entwined in an embrace. Hoarfrost coated their faces but Loki still knew who it was: he and Angrboda. What had possessed him to put that there, all those years ago?

Angrboda looked up as he approached and his breath was stolen away. His memories had not done her justice. Like the very landscape of Jotunheim, her beauty was feral and wild, if a little worn by the passage of time. The lines on her face tumbled like ocean waves over her forehead and cheeks. Her complexion shown cold and clear and her bones appeared almost delicate. And the confident woman he had met so long ago still looked out at the world, though she seemed a little sad.

"What is it, Jotun?" she asked.

Her husky voice jarred Loki out of his contemplation and he bowed low and knelt. "His Majesty sent me. I am to be your new guard." It wasn't entirely true. The Quatrain had sent him ahead while they dealt with Thrym.

"Did he?" Her voice carried a note of surprise and he suppressed a flash of anger. Thrym should have had several guards posted about. But she sat with her maids, alone, and sewed, when anything could harm her. "And what shall I call you, Jotun warrior?

"Gudmundr*, your Majesty."

"Gudmundr? How appropriate. Rise, Gudmundr, and take your post. I will be here awhile yet."

"Yes, your Majesty."

He stood and went to observe from the side, though he couldn't help his eyes straying back to her from time to time.

#

_*Gudmundr is derived from the old Norse words for "god" and "protection"._


	7. The Ones We Love

Night was always worse. Joan sat up in her bed, coughing harshly. Phlegm rattled in her chest. Rolling out of the bed, she rushed to her bathing chamber and spat into the basin. She braced her hands on either side of it, breathing deeply to catch her breath. The familiar fear crept up her spine, settling into the hollow of her throat.

Illness was nearly unknown in Asgard. Yes, children came down with little colds and things. Old age wasn't always kind. But a regular, reoccurring sickness? The healers (who dealt mostly with war wounds and broken bones) looked at her like she was an anomaly. And maybe she was.

Maybe she didn't belong in Asgard.

Straightening, Joan strode out of the room as if trying to outrun that thought. In a flurry of cloth, she dressed, combing her hair into a haphazard braid. Leaving her rooms, she passed through the dimly lit gardens, the bee boxes black blocks in the shadows. The Palace halls were empty, save for the random servant on a late night errand or a guard on duty. It didn't take long before she came to the new Allfather's chambers.

She hesitated, as she approached. Whenever they were children, Joan would go to Baldur, seeking comfort when her cough would wake her. But now he was the Allfather. Could she come to him as she once did? She remembered the look on his face when he returned from Midgard.

"My lady?" The guard on duty by the chamber door stared at her quizzically. "Is all well?"

She cleared her throat. "Is the Allfather awake?"

"I do not know, my lady. Would you like for me to see?"

She shifted from one foot to another. "Yes. Please do."

The guard bowed and opened the door, slipping through. She heard his bootsteps and then the muffle of voices. After a moment, the guard returned. "The Allfather will see you, my lady."

Joan nodded and stepped through the open door. The sitting room of the chambers was lit by the flames casting shadows from the fire pit. The rest of the room sat in flickering darkness. Baldur stood by the pit.

"Couldn't sleep?" he said.

"I could ask you the same."

His hands came together, the fingers of one picking at the thumbnail of the other. A nervous habit he'd had since a teenager. "It was the cough, wasn't it?"

She nodded, letting him change the subject. "Mother's tonics don't work anymore."

"I'm Allfather now. I'm sure I could find find something or someone who could help."

"You have enough on you, Baldur, without having to worry about me." She crossed the room until she stood in front of him. "Baldur, please. What happened on Midgard? You've been different."

He turned away. "It's not important."

"It's important enough to keep you up at night."

"I'm sending Jor back to Jotunheim."

"What-"

"And you should leave as well."

Joan stared at him. "Leave? Why?"

"Things may become difficult soon, Joan. People are beginning to suspect Father-"

"But why must I-"

"Just go!" His shout rang through the room and, in a moment, the chamber door opened.

"My King?" asked the guard.

"Return to your post."

No one spoke for a few moments after the door banged closed again.

"I don't understand," began Joan.

"It's for your own good. Your protection."

"And Mother?"

"You know she won't go, even if I order her to do so."

"Who says I will?"

He stepped close to her. "You're ill, Joan. You're vulnerable. I couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt."

"Yes. Because I am completely incapable of looking after myself."

"Joan..."

"No. You're right. I'm ill. I'm  _always_  ill. And I have no magic. So, no, I should leave before they start charging the Palace gate."

"I just want what's best for you."

"Is it?"

She stared at him, willing him to be honest with her, to open up to her like he did when they were children. But Baldur only turned away.

"I've instructed Heimdell," he said, "to set you down in Midgard. They rebuilt SHIELD, you know. That Captain America fellow runs it now. He'll look after you."

Joan swallowed, feeling the anger boiling up within her. "Fine." Turning on her heel, she walked away, her skirts flapping against her legs.

"Joan," Baldur called out after her.

She didn't answer, the door banging closed behind her.

#

I hugged Joan. "Be careful," I said. "And Steve is a good man. You can trust him." I smiled at her, my precious girl, and tried to hide my fear.

"And will you be all right?" Joan looked over her shoulder, at Jor and Baldur, who stood at a distance to give them privacy. She turned back to me, lowering her voice. "I don't want to go."

"It's probably for the best."

"Right." She drew back. "Because I'm helpless."

"Don't be like that. You aren't helpless. You're a good a fighter as Fandral, and he would know, as he's the one who tutored you. And you're smart." I smiled. "And you're the apple of your father's eye. You know how proud he is of you. How proud we all are. Your brother is just being cautious. You'll be able to come home in no time."

She grimaced. "I hope so. Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye, darling." I kissed her on the cheek.

I watched as the Observatory began to spin and, soon, she was sent away, tumbling down the Bifrost to Midgard to be looked after by a man I hadn't spoken to in a decade. But from Loki's account, Rogers hadn't changed much. If anything, time had made him more cynical.

As it was only Baldur, Jor, Heimdell, and myself, I didn't fear giving Jor a hug, kissing him on the cheek as I had done with Joan. Most people were afraid of being frozen by a Frost Giant's touch but Jor was very good at controlling his magic.

"Be careful," I said. "If you see Loki..."

"It's doubtful I will," rumbled Jor. "But if I do, you wish for me to say you miss him?"

"Yes."

He nodded and smiled, pulling on the harsh lines tracing along his face. "Goodbye."

After Heimdell sent Jor rushing back to Jotunheim, it only left the Guardian, myself, and Baldur. Baldur didn't say anything as he began to leave.

"You're making a mistake," I said. I turned to look at him as he stopped, his back to me. "At a time like this, Baldur, you need your family. I could have protected Joan with no problem. Jormundr could have advised you. What are you doing, my son?"

He didn't answer, only walked away. I looked up at Heimdell, who studied me with serious, golden eyes.

"You will watch over them?" I asked.

"Of course, my lady."

"And Loki?"

"The Quatrain have hidden him from my view."

"Have they? Or do you have some strange alliance with them? Again?"

"That is a serious charge, my lady."

"But not without foundation."

He blinked. "I am loyal to the throne of Asgard. I would never do or allow anything that would endanger it."

"And what of the man on that throne? What of his family?"

He turned his head slightly, as if to look at me more directly. The horns sweeping from his head made him look like an alien breed of stag. And the eyes that looked upon me showed no comprehension of what I said. Sighing with frustration, I turned and stalked out.

#

Loki trailed behind Angrboda as they crossed the frozen waste skirting the side of the Jotun Palace. Two of her maids walked with them, carrying baskets. They were walking to a cave where, deep inside, were heat vents, the remnants of an ancient volcano. Mushrooms grew there and they were to collect some.

Loki, that is, Gudmundr, didn't like it. He felt like it was tempting faith. But when he tried to persuade her to send servants, Angrboda insisted. It was almost as if she needed an excuse to get away from the Palace. A wild thought came to him: would she have been so eager to get away if he had stayed as Bjarte?

He shoved the thought away as he studied the frozen landscape. The music of the land stroked his skin and his soul. It was beautiful and haunting and soothed something he hadn't known was scraped raw until that moment. The muscles and sinew under his skin rippled and bunched as he moved. Loki felt like he had been forced into a small box for a long while until someone popped open the lid. He grabbed hold of a memory of Sigrid and held it close, reminding himself of what he had to return to.

They reached the cave without anyone stopping them. He went ahead, making sure there was no one there. Everything seemed fine and he stood a little ways up the tunnel, watching the women gather the mushrooms. The heat from the vents was uncomfortable and, soon, they were all sweating profusely. They couldn't stay for very long, just a few minutes. Finally, when Loki was about to urge the Queen to return, something moved in the shadows.

Perhaps it was the heat that had kept him from seeing them. Extreme heat muddled a Jotun's sight, after all. Whatever the reason, one maid was killed by the time he reached the two men. The first he grappled with, snapping his neck. Turning, through the haze of steam pouring from the vents, he saw another maid, bloody, on the floor, and the second assassin bearing down on the Queen. She stood with her back to the wall, a small steel dagger clasped in her hand.

Loki charged the assassin. They wrestled, slamming against the walls of the cave. At one point, they fell against the vents, both screaming from the pain.

"Angrboda," Loki bellowed. "Run!"

She ran away, her feet slapping against the stone. The assassin pulled him away from the vent, shoving a blade toward him. Loki grabbed his wrist, summoning his magic, and made the steel turn blazing hot in the killer's hand. He screamed, dropping it. Two blows to the chest and stomach, Loki managed to get his arms around his neck, snapping it.

Heart pounding and his side screaming with pain, Loki stumbled up the tunnel. Something felt strange. Something didn't feel right. But the heat and agony had so muddled his mind, he couldn't place what. The knowledge slipped away from him as soon as he reached for it.

The icy wind felt good as he came out of the cave. He closed his eyes, enjoying the cold.

A soft gasp caused him to turn. Angrboda stared at him with large eyes. That's when he noticed. He was slightly smaller. Shaking, he looked down at his hands. Not as large as Gudmundr's. Not as small as Loki's. His head raised, looking back at Angrboda.

She whispered, "Bjarte."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure in the comics, Steve Rogers ages like any regular man. However, it always made sense to me that because of his heightened metabolism and abilities, he would have an unusually prolonged life. Yet another way in which this is canon divergent!


	8. Revelation

Loki froze, the wind whipping around him and freezing the sweat on his forehead. He didn't know what to say or do. He wanted to recoil, to make her think she only saw a mirage, while he wanted to pull her close to him and kiss her.

In his moment of indecision, Angrboda closed the space between them and, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulled him into a kiss. Slowly, he slid his hands around her waist and then up her back to bury them in her hair as he returned the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth. He sighed as she savored her taste. The wind whipped harder around them, the magic in the air spiking as if in response to their kissing.

After a long moment, he pulled away. She was crying.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered.

"As did I." He swallowed, his mind racing for a reasonable explanation. He couldn't possibly tell this woman the truth. Could he?

"Where have you been? Are you here to take the throne back from Thrym?" A dark looked crossed her face. "Now that you are back, he is the interloper. Bjarte, I have always loved you, and it was always you I thought of when I've had to endure his...affections. I have no child other than the one you planted in my womb: Jormundr. And he's a fine son and will make a great king."

In the distance, the Bifrost came crashing down. She looked at it, joy filling her face.

"He's come home," she said. "Come. He will be overjoyed to see you!"

She started to pull away but Loki stopped her. "Angrboda," he said, "you must know the truth of some things. But not right now. Let me remain as Gudmundr for a little while longer and you will have the answers you seek."

Angrboda looked at him, frowning. "You swear this?"

"I swear."

Reluctantly, she nodded and watched as he resumed the form of her bodyguard. She closed her eyes and the expression of joy mixed with sorrow was wiped away. When she opened them, she was the distant Ice Queen again.

"We must tell Thrym of the assassins," she said. "Come."

And she led the way back into the Palace.

#

Joan blinked in the bright Midgardian sun, wind wiping over her as she looked around. She appeared to be standing on a platform on the top of a great tower. A gleaming city stretched out all around her, with a large body of water in the very distance. A man in a grey tunic with black trousers stood in front of her. He was slightly shorter than her father, with blue eyes and sandy hair.

"Ma'am," he said, "I'm Captain Steve Rogers. I'll be looking after you during her stay here." He held out his hand.

She stared at it for a moment before she remembered Mother telling her about the Midgardian custom of shaking hands. Slowly, she reached out and pressed his hand with her fingers. His palm was dry and warm.

"And I am Joan Lokisdatter. It is a pleasure to meet you." She dropped her hand. "Mother has told me about you."

"Sigrid's a fine woman." He gestured behind him, toward a door set into a curving wall of glass. "Right this way, ma'am."

Joan followed him into the building. It was reminiscent of her parent's sitting room, with places for people to sit and a small place for a fire to one side. Strange trophies and images decorated the walls. She approached a large, war-scarred shield hanging on the wall.

"That was the shield I took on my first mission," said Rogers. "I guess I'm sentimental. I replaced it with one made of vibranium."

"It's...lovely." It wasn't but she felt like she needed to say something. She turned, realizing she was clutching her bag against her chest like a shield. Joan knew she was acting silly, but she had never left Asgard before. Her parents always felt that her health was too frail. "Ah. Where are my rooms?"

"Right this way, ma'am."

"Please. You may call me Joan."

He smiled at her and the warm sincerity of it put her at ease. She surprised herself by smiling back. Rogers took her to a strange metal box with sliding doors that opened on their own. He pressed a number and it glowed. She tensed as the box began to slowly move downward.

"We have a whole floor reserved for you," he said. "Thought you'd want your privacy."

"Thank you. What is this place?"

"Stark Tower, ma'am. In New York City."

"Oh, right. Mother mentioned it. She said the owner has gone on to his ancestors."

"Yeah. Tony passed away about twenty years ago." Grief flicked through his face while his lips twisted bitterly. "His heart would have kept right on going but his body was too...well. He has a son, Pete. Pete's in Europe right now, though, negotiating contracts."

Joan had no clue what a 'contract' was (perhaps some form of treaty?), but she nodded, showing she was at least paying attention. "And you are a warrior, Captain Rogers?"

"Well, I'm a soldier. Protecting Earth from those who'd want to hurt it." Fatigue soaked his voice as he said that. A bell dinged and the doors slid open, to reveal a lavish apartment. A wall of windows overlooked the city. Rogers gestured and she stepped into the room.

Her room at home was decorated in pinks and pale blues. This was slightly more garishly done in red and metal grey. But she supposed it would do.

"It is more than suitable," she said, setting her bag on a couch. "Thank you again for your hospitality." Suddenly, a coughing fit hits her and she bent double, bracing herself against the back of the couch.

Rogers was there in an instant, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Joan? Can I get you something?"

She shook her head as the coughing abated. "I am well."

"No, you're not." He frowned. "Your dad mentioned you were sick-"

"I'm sure you pity me."

He flinched at the venom in her voice. "No. Not at all. Listen. We have some great doctors here. Maybe they can take a look at you...?"

She wanted to say no, but it was hard to resist the earnest expression in his eyes. Slowly, Joan nodded. What could it hurt, anyway?

"Great. I'll go and set up an appointment. Why don't you rest?" He cocked a small half-smile. "You did travel a long way."

Joan sighed. Everyone was always telling her to  _rest_. "I'll do that. Thank you, Captain Rogers."

"Please, call me Steve."

"Very well. Steve."

At that moment, she realized Steve still had a hand on her shoulder and she was becoming intensely aware of his body heat seeping through the fabric. Her eyes went to his hand and then back up to his face. Realization dawned on his face.

"Oh, sorry," he said, pulling away. "I'll go and see about the doctor. Let me know if you need anything."

She nodded and watched him leave, wondering at the expression that had been on his face. Men tended to avoid her because of her health and because of her father. She had little to no experience. Sighing, she sat on the couch, wishing she was home.

#

"Assassins?" said Thrym. He leaned forward in his throne. "You've done a great service in saving my wife, Gudmundr."

"It was only my duty, your Majesty."

The great doors leading into the throneroom opened and Jormundr entered. He frowned, seeing his mother (solemn and pale) standing by the King and a bodyguard he didn't appear to recognize.

"My son," said the king, "you have arrived just in time. An attempt as made on your mother's life and this good Jotun prevented it."

Jor came to stop by Loki, who turned and bowed. "My prince," he said, "it was only my duty as a good vassal of the Crown."

"But you should be rewarded," replied Jor.

"That is my intention," intoned Thrym. "But first I wish to hear of your trip to Asgard, my son. Gudmundr, you may return to your station."

Loki went to stand behind and to the far left of Angrboda. She barely glanced at him as he passed. He wasn't sure how he felt about her closed off expression. What had she gone through in his absence?

"Report, Jormundr," said Thrym.

Loki listened closely to Jor's report, trying to keep impassive. Jor was trying to put the events occuring in Asgard in a good light but Loki could read through the lines. He was the one that taught him the art of diplomacy, after all. Thrym didn't seem to pick up on the severity of the situation.

"Young Baldur has his work cut out for him," said the Jotun king, "but you sound confident that he will be able to handle the situation."

"I am," replied Jor.

"Then that is enough. You are dismissed."

After he left, Angrboda asked for permission to reward Gudmundr. Thrym granted it and he dismissed his wife as well.

Loki followed her, his mind racing as to what he was going to tell her. He still hadn't decided whether or not to tell the truth. They rounded a corner and came upon Jor, speaking to a pretty little serving girl, who seemed to be enjoying the prince's attention.

"Jormundr," called Angrboda. "My son, I must speak with you."

The serving girl squeaked and scuttled away. Jor turned to his mother, raising his brows. "Yes, Mother?"

"Come with me. And what did I tell you about the servants?"

"We were only talking."

Loki tried very hard not to smirk. For some reason, he liked it that his son wasn't as proper all the time as he appeared to be.

They went to the Queen's private quarters. "Jormundr, I have great news." She turned to them. "Your father is alive."

Loki felt the blood leave his face. What was she doing?

"Mother?" asked Jor. "What are you talking about?"

She turned to Loki. "Reveal yourself, Bjarte."

He looked from her to Jor and then back again. Sighing, he let his body slipped back into the image of Bjarte.

"Hello...my son," he said, looking at Jor.


	9. Trust

The look of pure shock on Jor's face was unfeigned. His father had been gone only a matter of days; he hadn't expected to see him again so soon. He looked to his mother, whose eyes shined with hope and love, and his stomach flipped upside down.

Loki was only going to be here a month, but Angrboda gazed on him as if he had come home to stay. Anger shot through Jor. Loki didn't know the long hours Angrboda spent gazing at the stars at night, or the sorrow that covered her face whenever they neared the anniversary of Bjarte's supposed death. He didn't know the humiliations she had suffered at the hands of Thrym.

"Where have you been?" he asked harshly, playing the part of wounded, abandoned son with ease.

"Recovering," Loki replied, looking at Jor. In this form, the two were at eye-level. "The Quatrain nursed me back to health in their temple."

"Why didn't they tell me?" He gestured at his mother. "Why didn't they tell her?"

"You will have to ask the Quatrain that question. I begged them to, but they would not allow it."

"Do you have any idea what Mother has suffered at the hands of Thrym? And now you tell me you were mere yards away, this whole time?" His voice cracked and he shifted back, surprised at the emotion shaking his shoulders. Jor wondered if he had felt this way the whole time.

"Jor, please," Angrboda said. She came to stand by her son, laying a hand on his arm. "Fate has been cruel, yes. And I, too, feel a measure of anger. However, I choose to look at the good of this situation. Your father has come home." She looked at her Bjarte. "And now he can take his throne."

Jor sucked in a breath. Is this what the Quatrain had in mind all along? But it made no sense. Why bind Loki in a bargain that had him only remain a month? They were barely a week into the arrangement. Were they trying to force him into something permanent? For a moment, he felt disoriented, as if he had walked into the middle of a play he didn't know and was expected to have a speaking role.

"Angrboda," Loki said, "would you leave us for a moment?"

"Of course." She walked up to him, laid a hand on his chest, and gave him a loving kiss on the lips. Jor looked away, feeling angry for Sigrid's sake.

Once the door closed behind her, Jor growled, "There better be a very good explanation for what is going on."

"I was starting to wonder how feigned your anger was."

The look Jor turned on him would have made a block of ice vanish into steam. "Every time I tried to bring her up, to let you know how she was and what she was suffering, you turned me away. Last we spoke, you forbade me from saying her name! And I come here and you two are acting like lovers!"

"I don't like it either-"

Jor scoffed.

Loki scowled, the Jotun lines on his face pulling into severe channels. "Jormungr, listen to me. I do not like the way this is going, either. But you must trust me."

Jor took a deep breath. Finally, he said, "What do the Quatrain want with you here?"

Loki straightened a little. "I'm protecting Angrboda. The Quatrain foresaw the attempt on her life and I prevented it. I suspect Thrym is behind it."

"Thrym? Why?"

"I'm not sure. But I was given an idea when she told me she hadn't had any child but you. Thrym claimed you as his own at your birth but everyone knows she was Bjarte's wife first. No doubt everyone suspects Bjarte to be your true father."

"It's the iceberg we've been ignoring for the past century, Father. Your point?"

"My suspicion is that he wants to do away with your mother so he can marry someone else to produce a son. And that child will be the one to ascend to the throne. I fear your life is in just as much danger."

Loki's words went a long way in helping Jor to stuff his anger down into the place where he kept it locked away. Taking a deep breath, he turned away to stare at a tapestry hanging on the wall. He remembered Mother weaving it when he was a boy. He liked to sit at her feet and watch the shuttle skimming along under hands.

Finally, Jor said, "And that is all? You're only here to assure her safety and my ascent to the throne?"

"Yes."

He looked at Loki. Rather, he looked at Bjarte. He would have to start thinking of him in those terms to make things easier. Bjarte's face appeared closed; Jor could not read anything there.

Finally, he said, "Tell me what you want me to do, Father."

"I'll need your help persuading your mother to wait on me. She's a strong-willed woman and she may not have the patience to endure what lies ahead."

"If she's had the patience to survive what has already come and gone, she has the patience to wait on you to complete your plans."

Bjarte caught the sharpness in Jor's tone and frowned. "I've come with the best of intentions."

"Every conqueror and every rescuer in history has said those words, Father. That didn't always mean the outcome matched what they hoped to do."

#

Joan did not sleep well in her first night in Stark Tower. When she wasn't staring at the ceiling, worrying in turns over her family members, coughing spells wracked her body. A few hours before dawn, she lapsed into a fitful sleep.

A gap between curtains covering the windows to the right of her bed admitted a ray of sunlight that fell across her face, waking her. Blinking eyes caked with fatigue, she sat up and scrubbed her face with both hands. If she was home, Brin would no doubt have made sure no light was admitted into the bedroom, and left Joan to sleep until she awoke, even if that wasn't until the early afternoon.

Sighing, she tossed the covers off of her and went to the window, pulling the curtains apart. Sunlight poured in, scattering the remaining darkness of the room, and she blinked hard, waiting for her eyes to adjust. When they had, she gasped.

The city gleamed beneath the morning light. Spires, glass, steel, all came together to look a forest of silver trees. Down far below, some sort of personal craft flew through the air like miniature boats in long lines, going to and fro on business she couldn't begin to imagine. On the one hand, the alien nature of what she looked at only served to accentuate her loneliness and homesickness while, on the other, it made her heart skip with excitement. She wanted to join the streams of people. She wanted to explore this gleaming place.

A knock on the door made her leave the bedroom, going down a hallway to the sitting area, pulling on a robe as she did so. Another knock.

"Coming," she called.

Opening the door, her eyes widened to see Captain Rogers, holding a tray covered with a silver lid. He seemed just as surprised as her.

"Oh," he said. "You're not dressed yet."

"Um. I just woke up."

"I'm sorry. I can just leave this and come back later."

"No, no, you're fine." She regretted the words the moment she said them but there was no taking them back now. Joan stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

He walked in. "I brought you breakfast."

"Oh. Thank you."

They both stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment before Joan realized she still stood there with the door open. Flushing, she closed it. "You must have used a different way up."

"I did. The elevator in here is for private use and I didn't want to intrude if you...didn't want someone intruding." He gave a little lopsided smile. "I'll, um, just set this down."

He carried the tray to a table to one side and she hesitated a moment before following. The table stood in a little corner with lighting hanging over it. Four chairs were pushed against it. Obviously, it was a dining table of some sort. Setting the tray down, the captain lifted the covering to reveal a stack of some sort of pastry, along with a bowl of red and blue fruits and two small pitchers of something. There was also a tall glass containing an orange liquid.

"I didn't know what you liked, but I thought we couldn't go wrong with pancakes. And these are strawberries and blue berries. I don't know if they have oranges where you're from but this is orange juice." As he spoke, he set out the food, placing flatware for her to use.

Drawing back the chair, he gestured for her to sit. Joan almost declined. She normally didn't eat so much in the morning and the restless night left her with no appetite. But he looked so earnest (and so handsome), that she couldn't discard his act of kindness. Joan seated herself and he pushed in the chair before going to sit across from her.

"There's maple syrup but I remembered your mom and her honey bees, so there's also honey."

Honey was like bread in their home. They ate it with almost every meal. Joan's face lit up and she looked into the small pitchers. One held a dark liquid and the other held honey. Dipping the tip of a finger into it, she brought it to her tongue.

The taste was entirely wrong and she made a face without thinking.

"What's wrong?" Rogers asked. "You don't like it?"

"Oh, um, uh, it's just...not like Mother's honey."

"No...I guess not." He laughed a little. "I remember her honey and I've never been able to find anything like it. Um. Try the syrup."

She did and it was much more pleasing than the stuff he claimed was honey. "How do I eat it?" she asked.

"It goes on the pancakes. Like a sauce."

"Oh."

Feeling awkward and stupid, she poured the contents of the pitcher onto the cakes. Taking up a fork, she cut a small triangle and tried it. Her brows rose at the explosion of taste. She hungrily dug in and was halfway through the stack before she realized her lack of manners.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "It's just been so long since I've tasted something so good." She hadn't had the heart to tell Mother, but she'd lost joy in all food long ago.

"I'm glad you like it." His smile was lovely.

Setting down her fork, Joan picked up the glass of what he called orange juice and sipped it. The taste was acidic with a vague sweetness, but this time, she prevented herself from making a face. "We usually have apple juice in the morning," she replied.

"I'll be sure to have some sent up tomorrow."

"I don't want to be any trouble."

"You're not."

Normally, Joan wouldn't believe him at all, but the look in his eyes, the pure honesty of his face, made it difficult to not smile back. Turning back to her plate, she ate in silence until everything was gone, even the fruit.

"We have strawberries and blueberries at home," Joan said. "But these are very good."

"I'm glad you like it. So, um. Did you sleep well? You, uh, don't look like you did."

She shook her head. "I miss home. I'm worried about my family."

"That's normal. I'm sure everything is fine."

Silence hung between them for a long moment before he cleared his throat. "I've cleared my agenda for today. Your doctor's appointment isn't until this afternoon. What would you like to do? Would you like to have a little tour of New York?"

The idea of having an adventure of her own, after so long of not having one, made her face lit up despite the worry that still clung to her heart. "I would love to," she replied.


	10. Things are Getting Worse

Life as the Queen Mother came with a set of obligations that I wasn't sure I enjoyed. One of them was being more visible in Court life. I never enjoyed that and only ever made appearances as Loki's wife when the occasion demanded it. Perhaps it had to do with my American upbringing, but all the stiff formality and etiquette just grated on my nerves. But when a luncheon was planned for Baldur and his advisors, I directed Brin to dress me in one of my finest gowns (a pale green with gold trimming, mimicking Loki's armor).

"Are you sure you should wear this, your Majesty?" asked Brin as she arranged my hair.

I frowned at her reflection in the mirror. "Why do you ask that?"

The servant grimaced a little. "It's only that there's been a lot of talk about the reason given for Loki's disappearance."

"Not everyone believes it?"

"No, your Majesty."

"And so perhaps I shouldn't remind them that I am Loki's wife and that Baldur is his son?"

Brin's fingers went still, holding a curl. "I did not mean to offend-"

"You didn't." I sighed. "I understand your concern, but I will not be disloyal to my husband by casting aside his colors."

"Yes, your Majesty."

Brin's words stuck in my head like an unpleasant refrain as I walked to the dining hall. As I went, people bowed or curtsied, but I saw the way their eyes flicked over my choice of attire. Was it my imagination or was there disapproval or perhaps even contempt? I thought again of the scene Jor and I witnessed through my fire, of the men speaking in the tavern, and I wondered.

The men with their women had already gathered by the time I arrived. Chairs scooted back as they stood and I felt awkward. As the wife of a person with as dubious a past as Loki, I was not used to so much respect. Sometimes, what respect I did receive I suspected I earned through my battle skills and my honey. Smiling at Baldur, under whose eyes smudged dark circles, I curtsied.

"Allfather," I muttered.

Baldur smiled, though it looked strained, and gestured for me to sit. Like all meals, this was a buffet style and plates were passed around accordingly, with servants refilling cups or setting out new dishes. Everyone seemed to want to speak with Baldur and I felt smothered in the cacophony of voices. But I smiled, drank my wine, ate my food, and spoke to those interested in speaking with me.

"I'm sure the Allfather heard about the brawls last night?"

The question came from a rotund former warrior, a thick scar bisecting his left cheek. In time, the scar would fade, but for the moment, it gave him a fierce look.

Baldur turned from the servant pouring more wine and raised his brows. "I'm afraid I haven't but brawls are nothing new or worth reporting."

"It is said it was begun because an off-duty Einherjar was defending the honor of the Allfather. It is said some men were speaking ill of the Allfather and his father. The Einherjar reacted and there was a brawl that caused considerable damage."

Several eyes flicked to me and, once more, Brin's words danced through my mind. Baldur set down his cup. "Again, I don't see how that is worth reporting. What is a night in a tavern, after all, without a fight?" He laughed and everyone laughed with him, even I did, though there was no humor in the sound.

The conversation afterward felt strained and stilted. When Baldur walked out, taking his private corridor to his next engagement, I followed.

"Baldur," I called as I strode after him.

He stopped and turned to me. "I really don't have time, Mother."

"Yes. You do. You may be the king, but you are still my son."

He sighed. "Very well. Leave us." His guards bowed continued onward to their destination. When the door closed, Baldur crossed his arms. "What is it, Mother?"

"How many brawls have there been?"

"Not every happening in the city is reported to me. Why does it even matter?"

"Because this is Asgard and we do not have brawls in our streets. We leave that to the Midgardians."

He grimaced. "There have been a few."

"Loki left us five days ago and there is already a considerable amount of strain."

"It will pass. Once people realize that nothing bad is going to happen, they will settle down."

"If you really believed that, why did you send Joan away?"

"Joan is weak and ill. I thought it would be best. I would have sent you, too, if I thought you'd go."

"Damn right I won't go. And you need to realize that the only cure for any coming storm is the truth."

"The truth?" His shoulders stiffened. "That Thor died because of me? That I killed him?"

"You didn't kill him, Baldur. He was protecting you. Even if you weren't the heir, even if you were some random person on the street, he still would have died protecting you. That was the kind of man Thor was. That is why you mustn't blame yourself. No one will blame you." She took a step toward him. "You need to have more faith in yourself, my son, and in your people."

He looked away. "Even if I were to tell the truth about Uncle's death, people would still suspect Loki."

"Yes. But if his son were to say that there would be no need to fear, then they would be more inclined to believe him."

Silence grew around us like the arching branches of a tree. But instead of connecting us, I felt as if we were separating.

"I'll think about it, Mother," he said. Turning on his heel, he walked away, bootsteps echoing as he left me alone with my thoughts and fears.

#

Joan and Steve traveled through the city in a flying machine he called a hovercar. She craned her head as she looked out the window, her fatigue forgotten as she watched the skyscrapers and other buildings flashing pass her. Glimpsing the inside of the buildings, she saw people at work, shopping, and doing other things she could hardly guess at.

Growing up, she listened with envy as Baldur and Jor talked about the places their father took them or she sat rapt as her mother told stories of her own childhood. She tried to envision the places they went, trying to build the worlds in her mind, but she saw now that her own inner visions surely had fallen short of the truth. It also occurred to her that perhaps this place wasn't as wondrous or as beautiful as Asgard, but it's newness made it so.

Feeling eyes upon her, she turned and looked at Steve. Someone else flew the vehicle and they sat together in the back seat. Steve was smiling.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I've lived in New York for years but I don't think I've ever seen someone as happy as you to see it."

She blushed a little. "Well, I've never been anywhere before."

His brows rose. "Really?"

"Really."

"Why not?"

It was her turn to shrug. "My parents always believed I was too frail to go anywhere. They were afraid it would somehow hurt my health. And, I think Mother just wanted to keep a closer eye on me."

He nodded. "I see. Well, being sick doesn't have to be permanent. I was pretty sickly growing up."

Surprise filled her face and she looked him over. "That can't be. I think you're teasing me."

He laughed. "No. Sometimes, I'm surprised I made it out of childhood."

"What happened?"

"Someone came along and helped me. He had a serum to make a strong, perfect soldier and he decided I was the man for it. I've spent the rest of my life trying to live up to what he believed about me."

She nodded. "What happened to him? The man that helped you?"

Sorrow rose in his eyes. "He died."

Joan smiled a little and took his hand, much to Steve's apparent surprise. "Mother always liked to say that our ancestors watch over us and that they can be proud of us. From what Mother has told me about you, Captain, I believe this man is proud of you."

His easy smile returned. "I like that. I hope you're right."

Their eyes met and something passed between them that made Joan's heart pick up speed. She became intensely aware of her hand on his. She withdrew it. "Um. I've heard about this place called Central Park. Can we go there?"

"Sure! Hey, Howard, can you take us there?"

"No problem, Cap," said the driver and he made the course corrections.

"Maybe after that," Steve said, "we can stop for pizza."

"That sounds lovely," Joan replied. "But what is pizza?"

#

Thrym stood at the balcony, looking down on the courtyard below. Angrboda and her bastard child, Jormundr, were watching some of the warriors spar with each other. Near them stood Gudmundr and a scowl tightened Thrym's features.

"Your Majesty?"

He turned. One of his advisors stood there, arms clasped behind his back. "Yes?" he grunted.

"The meeting about the Festival will be starting soon."

"Hm. Very good. Come and look at this."

The advisor walked over to look down into the courtyard.

"What do you see?" Thrym asked.

"I see the Queen and your son watching the day's exercises."

"Yes. But what else?"

The advisor shook his head.

"I see," Thrym continued, "our venue for one of the fetes for the festival."

"Your Majesty?"

"What say you to a tournament between the guards and that the winner would face me in battle?"

The advisor looked at him in surprise. "Your Majesty, no offense, but were you not a scholar-"

"I feel that I've learned enough in the meantime to acquit myself well."

The Jotun seemed dubious but not wishing to disagree with his king, he nodded. "If it is only a sparring, I would not see the danger in it, if all precautions are made."

"Hm."

Silence passed between them as they watched the fighting.

Finally, Thrym said, "I think that new guard, Gudmundr, should especially be encouraged to join in the tournament."

The advisor looked at him and there was no doubting the question in his eyes. However, he kept it to himself and only bowed.

"Come." Thrym said, turning away from the scene. "Let us make all the arrangements."

#

"What...?" The technician sat back from the microscope.

"Something wrong?" asked his colleague, looking up from the pad in his hands.

"You know that visitor from Asgard? The one Cap brought in for testing?"

"Yeah. You're analyzing the test results, aren't you?"

He nodded. "And you'll never believe this." He pushed back from the table, letting his wheeled chair carrying. He gestured. "Take a look."

The other scientist rolled over and looked through the scope. His head jerked back and looked back to the first technician, his face mirroring his friend's shock and disbelief. "Holy shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I forgot how cute Steve and Joan are together!


	11. Discoveries

As they approached the glittering Avengers Tower, fatigue dragged on Joan's shoulders. A cough burst from her, followed by others racking her, her whole body bending forward in the effort.

"Are you all right?" Steve asked, concern furrowing his brow.

She tried to respond but all her focus centered on gasping for air between rasping coughs.

"Take us to the med ward," Steve ordered the driver.

Just before the darkness swallowed her up, the last thing she saw was the warrior, leaning over her.

#

"What do you mean she's fallen ill?" I glared at Heimdall, willing him to tell me more.

The strange golden eyes stared down at me. "Precisely what I say, Queen Mother. On a return from venturing into the city, the princess fell into a coughing fit and then fainted. The man you entrusted her to, Rogers, has taken her to a medical facility, where they are keeping close watch over her."

I licked my lips, trying to order my thoughts. On the one hand, I wanted to be near Baldur, in case he needed my aid (even if he didn't want it). On another, Loki expected to find me in Asgard on his return (if he returned). But my daughter, my poor child who was sickly nearly from birth, needed me. Loki would expect me to go and Baldur had advisors aplenty. He had already heard my counsel. Now, what remained was his choice.

"I'll go fetch some supplies. When I return, you will send me to Midgard."

#

"This is madness," Jor said in a voice so calm, Loki would have thought he was commenting on the weather.

"It is," Loki replied.  _It's also perfect_.

Night swaddled the Palace. They stood in the dim Ice Garden. Below them, the courtiers, the Queen, the maids, everyone slept save for a few guards, and a father and his son, speaking by the frozen fountain.

"You have to do it, though," Jor said. "You can't exactly back down when the Quartermaster encourages you to do something, especially if it's entering a tournament for a festival."

Loki sighed. "Very true. But I'll go easy on Thrym. If one can go easy on an ego that large."

Jor's distant facade cracked into a smile. "Very true."

Silence lapsed between them as they looked at the fountain, at the frosted flowers.

Finally, Jor said, "Father, I have a question."

"Oh?"

"I've spent a lot of time in this room, with Mother. Hiding from Thrym."

Loki's jaws clenched. The idea that his son had to hide from anyone infuriated him.

"And, this fountain, I've always wondered about the sculpture at the top. You built this place. What is it?"

He tipped his head back to look up at the entwined figures. A long sigh drew from him. "Your mother and I."

Jor jerked his head around to stare at Loki, though he didn't return the gaze. "You loved her."

Loki looked at Jor. "I should go. Goodnight, my son."

"Goodnight, Father."

Jor stood in that Ice Garden for a long time after Loki left, studying the ice-coated figures.

#

"I demand to see her." It had been a long time since I was last on Midgard, and in that time, I learned to expect a certain sort of treatment. Apparently, this nurse had not been trained in giving said treatment. "She is my daughter."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry." The nurse, an older woman with lines of grey in her hair, scowled at me. We'd been going back and forth for a while now. "But until I speak to-"

Not interested in hearing more excuses, I walked away from the desk and headed straight for the double doors leading into the med ward.

"You can't go back there!" the nurse cried.

Ignoring her, I shoved against the doors, which turned out to be locked. Grimacing, I shoved harder and steel screeched as the locks gave and the doors opened. A shrill siren wailed but I ignored it as I strode down the hall, my cloak flapping behind me. No way in Hel was I going to be kept from my daughter.

The guards, in black gear with the SHIELD insignia on their arms, met me around the first corner.

"I don't wish to fight," I said. "I only want to see my daughter, Joan."

"Ma'am," ordered one of them, "set down your bag and raise your hands."

Scowling, I drew in a breath, intending on throwing them aside with magic, when Rogers came out of a door further down the hall.

"Sigrid!" he cried. "Men, it's all right." He jogged down the hallway to us. "Stand down. She's welcome here."

The men, giving each other confused glances, straightened and pointed their weapons to the floor. Steve stepped around the men and stopped before me. He had not changed at all since I last saw him, save for the worn and cynical cast to his eyes.

"I'm afraid I broke your door," I said. "My apologies."

"It's all right." He gave me his signature grin and nodded to the men, who walked away. "We can afford to fix it. Joan is right this way."

As we walked, I asked, "Is she awake?"

"She just came around, in fact. I was about to share with her the doctors' results."

I halted. "You can't."

He frowned and crossed his arms. "Why not?"

"Because I doubt you'll be able to tell her anything we don't already know. Asgard has more advanced technology than you, after all."

"Then why haven't you found a way to help her?"

I sighed. "We know some of the shape of the problem, but not all of it. And what little we do know, we have no answer for. Giving her too much information will only exacerbate the problem."

"You mean, you know things you haven't told her?"

Clasping my hands, I nodded. "Yes. Her father and I felt that it would be better this way."

"Well, it's not. It bothers her that she doesn't have any clue what's wrong and she has a right to know." He dropped his arms and softened his voice. "I don't have any right to tell you how to raise your daughter. But she deserves the truth."

His words echoed the ones I delivered to Baldur not a day ago. I suppressed a shiver and licked my lips. Looking at it through the lens of my own advice, I saw the need for the truth. If I was in Joan's position, I would want to know. And it had been a long, long time since she was a small child.

Had it only been fear, then? Fear that if her father and I proved to be fallible that we would somehow be diminished in her eyes? Or did we simply not wish to admit our failure? No parent wants to fail their child, no matter what realm they live in.

"Very well," I said, my voice almost weak in my hesitation. I took a deep breath. "Very well."

He nodded and led me to the door out of which he came, which stood open. Stepping inside, my throat closed for a moment at seeing Joan laying pale and withdrawn in the hospital bed. Monitors beeped around her and a breathing tube had been placed over her nose, to help her.

"Mother," she whispered, summoning a small smile.

I rushed to her side, setting my bag carefully on the floor. "Daughter." Laying my hand on her forehead, I smiled down at her. "How do you feel?"

"Awful." She coughed into her hand and swallowed. "But better than I was."

"Heimdall told me what happened."

"Please don't be angry with Steve. I wanted to see the city. I never get to go anywhere, have my own adventures..."

"Shhh. It's all right." Straightening a little, I sat on the bed next to her and took her hand. "Dearheart, there's something I wish to tell you. Something, I think, Steve's doctors have already discovered, at least in part."

"What do you mean?"

I sighed. "When we first had you examined in the Soul Forge, the healers didn't understand at all what they saw, so they said nothing for a time, other than that they needed to examine you again. I'm sure you remember all that. It seemed as if we spent days on end in the Healing Room."

She nodded but made no attempt to interrupt.

"In the end, they told us that all they know is that..." I licked my lips. "Is that for some reason, parts of your organs keep dying and then coming back to life. There were times when we told you that you had fainted when..." Tears misted my eyes and I looked down, unable to continue.

"When I...really died?" she asked.

Blinking away the tears, I looked back up at her. "Yes. But after an hour or two, you came right back, as if nothing happened."

Fear, astonishment, confusion, these and a dozen other emotions crowded onto her face. "Why did you never tell me?"

"Because we had no answer. We barely understood the test results ourselves. We didn't want to burden you with a knowledge you couldn't do anything about."

Joan looked away from me, her eyes unfocused, as she took in this information. Finally, she turned to me. "Father can't do anything?"

Her voice came broken, and small. The sound of a girl who just learned her greatest hero was not so great. The sound of a father's girl who just learned that her father was not the all-knowing, all-wise man she always believed him to be. The sound of a child's dream shattering.

"Only because he doesn't understand the problem," I said, "but that doesn't mean he one day can't."

"But what if...what if I die-"

"Shh. Don't upset yourself."

"No." She gripped my hand. "What if I die and-and don't come back?"

Hearing my greatest fear in her voice almost caused me to burst into tears. Swallowing thickly, I could only squeeze her hand. "We are doing all we can."

Turning her head a little, Joan held up her free hand, looking at it as if she'd never seen it before. "I'm half-dead," she whispered.

Tears spilled down my face and I hastily wiped them away before she could see them.

#

Silence rang through the Observatory after Heimdall finished repeating what Sigrid told Joan. For a long moment, Baldur didn't say anything as he came to terms with this news. He always suspected that his parents kept secrets (what parent told their child everything, after all?). But this news rocked him. His world swayed around him and for a moment he felt as if he floated in the deep void just beyond the Observatory with naught but the cold, distant stars surrounding him.

"Allfather?"

He turned to the guard. "I asked to not be disturbed."

"There is a mob at the palace gates. They want answers about Loki's disappearance and about Thor's death."

He grimaced. Turning to Heimdall, Baldur ordered, "Do not allow my mother and sister to return to Asgard, for their safety."

Heimdall gave him a long, steady stare before bowing. Turning away, Baldur strode out to deal with the mob, the guard at his heels.


End file.
